There were fifteen very powerful business leaders in attendance, and Vincent Marks counted himself among those who were self-made. He had actually started in manufacturing some thirty years before and had built his own very successful multi-million dollar company. Using its assets, he had then started acquiring and selling off companies and their subsidiaries, amassing a personal fortune, estimated to be in the hundreds of millions, along the way.
When the growth of the high-tech industry was in its infant state, Vincent had been one of the first industrial heavyweights to recognize the possibilities. He had started buying some upstart companies, not just for their products, but also for their rather uniquely talented employees. Over a period of just fifteen years, he had accumulated some of the most knowledgeable researchers in the high-tech field. Not only had they come up with innovative ideas and products over the years that had set standards of excellence in the industry, but one of his divisions was also the preeminent laboratory where both software and hardware products were tested and refined for both civilian and military applications. His company’s survival depended on the world’s trading partners’ ability to respect intellectual rights and he, for one, was determined to do his part in bringing the Chinese into the world-trading fold.
He turned to Max Schlegal, one of the other attendees, who was seated next to him. He had known Max from a distance for years, yet considered him somewhat of a confidant when it came to business. The old adage of it being lonely at the top had much truth in it, so men like these ran in small circles. “I hear that the kid had dossiers on each of us when they found him, Vincent confided, bending privately to the ear of his neighbor.”
Max reacted in surprise, “How could you know of such a thing, Vincent?” he asked, “My people tell me they’ve put a total blackout on any developments regarding the investigation, and Vincent, you know my people are the best,” he said, with a proud gleam in his eyes.
Marks shrugged, “I have my sources, Max, but I will admit that beyond that tidbit, not a word has been forthcoming from my sources, either.”
“Yes, well I suppose that makes all of us suspects, eh Vincent?” Max stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh, really? Why would you say that? We all have a great deal to lose if this mission is a failure.”
Max looked up to make sure no one was listening and responded, “Look, it’s no secret that Levine was as concerned as we are about the leaks in our trade policies. Only a few select people could be leaking the information, and all of us present on this plane are on that list. Maybe he knew something, someone found out, and thought it better to silence him forever. We’re all suspects, except maybe, Bennett. I guess, since his uncle’s the Secretary of Commerce himself. I’m sure he’s off the list.”
Vincent nodded, a little taken back by his contemporary’s manner, “Yeah, I suppose you could be right Max. I hadn’t really thought of it that way, and I don’t mind telling you that I feel kind of strange being a murder suspect.” Vincent shifted in his chair. “I hope they nail whoever is responsible soon, and I hope they do it quietly,” he added. None of us needs that sort of publicity!”
“Gentlemen, would either of you like a cocktail?” It was the Air Force attendant who had approached the men during their conversation. Max and Vincent shook their heads no. The interruption had the effect of ending the conversation between the two of them, though and both men turned their thoughts inward again, settling back for the long trip ahead.
* * *
It was 1:00 a.m., local time, when the Air Force jet touched down in Beijing. Due to bad weather, they were running several hours behind schedule. Nevertheless, a red-carpet ceremony with an assembled group of very high-level dignitaries awaited the Americans’ arrival. Ceremony is deeply embedded into the Chinese culture, and late arriving flight, or not, it still mandated tradition be observed.
One-by-one, members of the group disembarked the plane and walked down the portable stairs onto the airport tarmac. As they walked past the assembled contingent, one of the Chinese dignitaries gave a slight nod and glance to one of the group. The American reacted by looking away, hoping that no one else had seen. “That idiot is going to blow everything,” he thought, as he lowered his head and shoved his hands slightly deeper into his pockets. “With all of this scrutiny, I can’t afford any errors. Not when we’re so close.”
The group continued on to the awaiting cars. When they had all been seated, the American allowed himself a glance out of the window. “Just a few more weeks now, just a few weeks.” His head snapped back as the motorcade left the airport and started making its way to the Grand Palace Hotel.
Looking out the window of one of the other cars, Vincent Marks could not help but reflect on the changes he had seen over here the past ten years. This once private, often ignored, giant of a country was just now beginning to open itself up to the outside world. The economic potential of a nation with over one billion people was almost too staggering to think about. Done correctly, bringing the Chinese economy into the world-trading fold could make fortunes for many companies and individuals, while at the same time raise living standards for the average Chinese. Done incorrectly, they might become an adversary, who could potentially throw the world into another fifty years of cold war.
As they passed through the countryside and into the city, he looked out at the quiet streets, new skyscrapers and office complexes under construction everywhere, knowing that in a few hours, these same streets would be jammed with cars and cyclists going to work, each of them trying their best to eke out a humble existence. There are times in history when the actions of men, such as those attending these meetings, are judged by generations to come. Monday morning quarterbacking has become a national pastime in the western nations, and no doubt, their trip would be scrutinized and dissected even before they landed back home. He hoped they would find little to be negative about.
The motorcade pulled up to the hotel entrance and came to a stop. Vincent gathered his thoughts and stepped out of the limousine. He checked in at the front desk with the others and was shown to his room. Just as he was entering, he nodded to Max who was staying just down the hall. It was time for everyone to get some rest before the informal meetings scheduled for the next day. The bellhop left, and the door closed behind Vincent for the night.
Ten minutes later, a refreshed looking Max Schlegal left his room and walked to the elevators. He pressed the elevator button and after a moment, the door opened and he disappeared inside. As the doors closed, Max pushed the button for the top floor and waited as the elevator started to move. A moment later, the doors opened facing the entrance to the top floor lounge, which was closed for the night. Walking to the closed doors, he knocked anyway. Someone on the other side of the door said something. “It’s me,” he replied, and the door opened. Max stepped into the darkened room and stopped, allowing his eyes to adjust. Sitting at a table next to a window overlooking the city, was a group of Chinese. They looked up impassively as Max took a seat at the table.
“You all look a little tired this evening,” Max said in perfect Chinese.
“We have been waiting several hours. Your plane was late, remember?” Max looked at the smaller man, a little taken aback by his tone and decided not to respond in kind. It was late and everyone’s nerves were a little frayed.
“What do you have for me?” Max asked in English.
One of the men spoke, “We’ve been able to reconstruct a small part of what Chin had put together, but we still have a long way to go. Like we have reported to you previously, all of his records seemed to have vanished. His computer was wiped clean and the best we’ve been able to do is get a few bits of information. The problem has been compounded because we can’t be certain whether the information we retrieved from his computer hard drive was actually his or put there as a decoy. What we do have is frightening, and potentially disruptive, on a global scale. It seems that one or possibly a few Chine
se generals want to run more than their own army, and they may have help from some very interesting sources in the U.S.”
Max interrupted. “I find it hard to believe that, after three years, you haven’t been able to get at least as far as he had. What am I paying you for, anyway?” he demanded.
“Chin must have stumbled across something that gave him a shortcut to the facts, that’s all we can figure. They found him out, sir. They killed him, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Max said in a lower tone. “He and Gibson both. Do you have anything that is going to help me over the next few days?”
“No,” the other man answered, “you are going to have to let us keep digging until we can get it figured out. A special section of Interpol is involved now and we’ve got to keep from stepping on toes.”
“Any idea at all what these generals are up to?” Max persisted.
The man answered again, “No, Mr. Schlagle. Nothing concrete as of yet. When they found out about Chin, they must have covered their tracks really well.”
“Okay, gentlemen,” he said coldly, making eye contact with each; “I want a report on everything you have before I leave. I don’t care if you have to take some wild guesses, but I want some answers five days from now.”
“Yes, sir. You’ll have everything we have before you leave.”
Max stood. He turned to leave the lounge, deep in thought, steaming because they had gotten nowhere in all this time. He hoped meeting with his men here face-to-face would motivate them to try harder. He was used to results—not excuses. In the back of his mind, however, he knew this was China and, here, the game rules were different. During the elevator ride down to his room, he noticed the camera in the corner, observing him. “Humph,” he muttered to himself, “the information age. Orwell was probably right. Pretty soon, were not even going to be able to use the john without someone knowing it.” Max made it back to his room, opened a bottle of medicine and took a pill to help him sleep. It was the only way he was going to get some rest, this night.
* * *
It was the third and final day of the conference and the government hall was crowded with officials and trade mission members, the din of their conversations echoing off of the marble walls. Standing in one corner of the room, Vincent Marks had managed to gain the ear of the Chinese minister of trade. “You must understand that China is a very large nation and we cannot possibly keep track of all of the commerce which takes place, just as you cannot control everything that happens in your country.”
Vincent bristled at the remark the minister of trade had just made. For a communist nation that had spent the last four plus decades controlling every aspect of their population’s lives, this statement was almost laughable. Biting his tongue and gaining control, Vincent took the diplomatic route. “Of course, we could not expect you to anticipate problems before they occur in every case. That is why it is so important to have measures of recourse in place for when these events do occur. The rules of law that the western economies have been using, with all of their faults, have provided us the framework for organizing commerce. It would be mutually beneficial for us to come to some agreement on developing a framework for China that works as well. Many of your countrymen and those of you in influential positions, will attain more wealth in less time under this type of system than if the status quo is allowed to continue.”
“There, I said it,” Vincent thought. “When all else fails, appeal to greed.”
The minister nodded and thought for a moment, “I will take your words under advisement.”
“We will speak again this evening then?” Vincent asked.
“Of course,” the minister answered, “but please enjoy yourself this evening, Mr. Marks. We have arranged some special entertainment which we hope will give you great pleasure.”
Vincent bowed slightly to the minister and turned to leave, when Max Schlegal bumped into him.
“Vincent, if you have a moment please take a walk with me,” he requested with some urgency.
Vincent shrugged, “Sure, let me grab my coat.”
As the two men started the short walk back to the hotel, Vincent could not help but notice all of the people crowded on the streets, both on bicycles and on foot. The different noises of street vendors peddling their wares, the different music, the din of the strange dialect. It all made this culture seem so foreign to him. “Was it too old and too large to transform into western ways?” Vincent wondered. Overwhelmed by everything he had heard and seen over the past three days, he was becoming resigned to the fact that the leaders of both nations would have to find some common ground between the two cultures, and, when all was over, they would simply hope for the best.
Vincent glanced over at Max. “What’s up Max? You seem rather upset.”
Max looked straight ahead as he continued his walk with Vincent. “I don’t know how to tell you or even what I can tell you Vincent, but watch your back.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow upon hearing Max’s warning.
Max went on, “My sources have picked up on something happening over here and we may have some stormy weather ahead.”
Vincent responded impassively, “Your sources? Max, why are you telling me this? How do you know I’m not the one feeding them the information?” He paused. “You have to be careful, as well. If I were the one behind the leaks, you would have just made yourself a target.”
“Let us just say that I have good instincts about people, Vincent, and you are the only one in this crowd I feel I can halfway trust. We leave tomorrow. When we get back, why don’t we try to keep in touch with each other, keep each other informed?”
Vincent hesitated not quite knowing how to respond, “Sure Max. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to bring to the table in the way of information but, sure, let’s talk.” Vincent was puzzled as to why he had become Max’s newfound confidant. It made him feel a little uneasy. “Oh well,” he shrugged it off, “one can never have too many allies.”
The two men walked the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence.
Later that night, a formal state dinner was followed by entertainment featuring some very famous Chinese circus performers. Vincent began to relax and genuinely enjoy himself, appreciating the hospitality of his hosts. About halfway through the evening, he noticed that Max got up from his seat across the room and leave. Vincent’s thoughts turned to what Max had told him earlier that day, and he decided he had better reassess his financial positions just in case he was right.
Right about that time, the sound of someone clearing their throat distracted him from the evening’s festivities. Vincent turned.
“And how would you assess our mission so far Mr. Marks?” The U.S. Secretary of Commerce asked.
Vincent was thoughtful. After a moment he responded.
“I’m not sure how I would grade our success. I get the distinct feeling that this is all a game to them and that we’re just the brunt of some kind of insider’s joke. I guess only time will tell.”
The Secretary of Commerce just stood and stared a Vincent for a moment.
“I feel we can do business with these people. That’s what I think,” he said continuing his stare. Marks couldn’t think of a response. The awkwardness of the moment was broken when the Secretary turned and walked away without uttering another word.
“That was weird,” Vincent muttered to himself. After his brief encounter, he began to mingle with the others in attendance. He kept looking for Max, but Max didn’t return for the rest of the evening. Considering Max’s warning, he began to feel uneasy. Finally, the night was over and Vincent headed back to the hotel. He rang Max’s room from the lobby, but no answer. Marks became uncertain of what to do. Should he tell any of the secret servicemen who had attended the meetings and social gathering with them? Surely, they would keep an eye on him. That’s what they were there for. Besides, which, Vincent wouldn
’t be surprised if some FBI men weren’t here in Bejing watching each of them, since they were all under suspicion. If Max got into any trouble help wouldn’t be too far away, at least he hoped. He decided not to raise the issue until morning and went to bed. But he didn’t sleep well that night, his mind unable to settle down.
The next morning, Vincent’s fears were laid to rest when he met Max and the others in the lobby for their ride to the airport. All in all, the trip would be spun as a guarded success. The contingent had been able to have very frank discussions with those who mattered in the Chinese government, and those officials appeared to have listened. However, like all politicians, leaving others with the impression of their choosing was a practiced art, so to Vincent at least, it was hard to tell if they had really achieved their objective.
Indeed, agreements had been reached before with the Chinese, but the true test was whether they would honor them this time or ignore their promises as they had done so many times in the past.
The jet accelerated down the runway, the nose lifted, and its wheels left Chinese soil. Vincent and the rest of the contingent each let out an internal sigh, some sighing in relief, others in regret of having to leave the many pleasures they had experienced over the past several days. Soon they would be returning home to deal with the normal drudgeries of running the government or their respective empires.
Vincent looked out the window at the shrinking landscape below, assessing it like a potter assesses a lump of clay. “So many possibilities for those below,” he thought, “and in turn, the world at large.” He continued to stare, becoming lost in thought until clouds enveloped the jet and the scenery below disappeared. Vincent grabbed a pillow, settled back, and closed his eyes, starting to put the events of the past few days out of his mind and beginning to think about his responsibilities awaiting his return.
CHAPTER
SIX
It was now well into the middle of autumn and the days were now passing by at breakneck speed for Garrett. He and Anna had been spending as much time as they could together, carrying on as only new lovers could. But as much fun as they were having, they were always meeting on the sly at his place or sneaking to somewhere off the beaten path, and that was starting to wear on Garrett. Finally, one night at dinner, Garrett confronted Anna with his feelings.
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